Then she was at Quantico in a shoot-out. Look behind you. Always behind you, Dunfee intoned. And she whirled, like at Quantico.
Bullets compress air, and when they come very close, you can feel their passing. The instant her head turned, the bullet sliced the air where her jaw had been. She heard the little puff of the silenced muzzle.
Without a thought she dropped and rolled into the snow, ready to shoot on her way up. But she had no target. Then all hell broke loose-the thumping of an automatic rifle tore up the woods. She crawled madly on her belly back toward a log she had stepped over. Wood and ice flew everywhere. She held her automatic as she crawled.
Then it was dead still again. Nothing remained of the tumult except the chattering of an angry squirrel. She was behind the log. Never shoot what you can't see. Dunfee again. Out here it didn't matter. There were no bystanders. Maybe she should pepper the bushes herself. No-it would only give away her location as it had his.
Breathing heavily, she aimed at the spot that had spewed out the hell. She was shaking. Could she survive this? Then it occurred to her that she had a grenade. But was he still there? And why hadn't he used one? Obviously because he was too close. The trees were maybe a foot through and weren't a sure cover for shrapnel. But she was behind a big log. As if it were happening in slow motion, she watched her finger pull the pin. She stretched back her arm, then swung it forward in an arc, releasing the grenade. She waited for what seemed enough time for a slow yawn. Then, wham! The ground shook with the explosion. Damn, the ringing in her ears. Next time she'd cover them better.
Now the silence was overwhelming. Even the squirrel had shut up. Slowly, she stuck her head up. Concentrating again, she listened and looked, with the automatic ready. There was no point in being quiet now. The secret was out.
Then she heard something faint, like whispering. Of course, he would be using the radio. He had the luxury of staying put and waiting for reinforcements.
'Help.' The voice was no more than a hoarse whisper. 'Help.'
She was stunned. It sounded genuine, like a person badly hurt. Dying. Of course it sounds genuine, you lunatic, she told herself. If she were going to fake it, she would make it sound real.
'Help,' the voice came again.
It was unnerving. All her life she had thought of herself as someone who would help. Without thinking further, driven by something she couldn't explain, she began to crawl in a circle. Crawling straight away would be much safer-make him come to her. But she ignored her own safety in favor of the more powerful seduction.
After several minutes of crawling, she stopped. He hadn't moved, and was still calling out to her. Now she was opposite the log behind which she had hidden, on the far side of the shooter. By continually calling out, he was giving away his location. She could throw another grenade and wipe him out, unless he was behind something solid.
'What the hell are you doing?' she shouted in frustration.
''I'm dying,'' the faint voice said.' 'I don't want to die alone. They're… leaving me… leaving me for dead.'
''And I'm supposed to worry about this?'' There was silence. 'You tried to kill me!'
'You want me to apologize?' The voice laughed a feeble laugh. 'You're gonna forgive me if I say-' She heard an ugly cough. 'If I say, 'I'm sorry'?'
'How do I know you won't blow us both up with a grenade if I come in?'
'I'll throw 'em out.'
'How do I know how many you have?'
'You've killed enough of us. Four per man.'
She wasn't sure from the sound of him how much longer he could talk.
'Okay, you throw them off to my right and blow 'em.' She lay in a swale behind a natural earthen berm covered with snow. Then she heard a thud in the trees, and nothing more.
After a time he called out. 'Okay,' he gasped.
'They were supposed to explode.'
'Too weak. I'd blow my ass off.'
'Well, I only heard one-and I have no way of knowing it was a grenade.'
'I'm not strong. I threw three… they're close by.'
'Crawl toward me.'
'I can't.'
'Then you're just going to have to die.'
'Please.' He was choking again.
'I'll think about it.'
She crawled toward the spot where she had heard the grenade fall. But after she'd crawled twenty feet, she realized how stupid it was to look for a hole in the snow. Still she kept on.
'More to the right.'
Damn. He could hear her. Feeling crazy, she crawled straight toward him until she found a log. Thank God. She couldn't see him, but she was sure he was less than thirty feet away.
Wedging herself way under the large log, she called out. 'All right. Tell me who you are, and how many of you there are.' It smelled musty under the log, even in the snow.
'Please.'
'Listen, you bastard. How do I know you won't cut loose a grenade and blow us both up?'
'I'm dying. Please.' The man's breathing sounded as if he had been in a footrace. 'I'm no hero.'
'Why would blowing me up make you a hero?'
'You stole top-secret-' He gasped for air.
'So what do they think we have?'
'They won't tell us.'
'Who won't tell you?'
'Tillman. Not supposed to know his name.'
'What's he scared of?'
'Don't know.' There was more coughing. 'Illegal stuff, probably.'
'What do you mean?'
'Buddy of mine took two eggheads to the reservation. He heard… about some mink farm… something with the mink. Now, help me.' He sounded like he was fading fast.
'Tell me about the mink first.'
'I will. Come.' She hesitated. 'Please,' he said with a certain haunting resignation in his voice.
Something inside tugged at her. He sounded alone and pathetic. Coming to an adversary on his terms was contrary to the rules of engagement she'd learned at Quantico. Dunfee would be appalled. Setting aside the warnings in her mind and ignoring her profound sense of foreboding, she started crawling.
She approached with her gun drawn. But even under the trees, the snow was deep, causing her to stop regularly to push her head above the drifts. Finally she spotted a bloody leg. Low-hanging branches kept her from seeing his torso, his hands. Still hiding behind the tree trunk no bigger than a man's thigh, she looked for a safe vantage point. There was none.
The man stirred. 'Where are you?'
She said nothing. Another tree about six feet away would provide minimal cover and maybe a better view. Very slowly, inches at a time, without looking up, she crawled toward it, conscious of every sound. Raising her head, she found him through a break in the foliage. Her breath caught in her throat. Each of his hands clenched a grenade. How could she be so stupid? If he let go, they would both die. She began crawling away. In a minute, she lay back behind the berm, shaking.
'I saw the hand grenades, asshole,' she shouted.
A second later the forest rocked with the explosion.
Chapter 17
